King and queen
by Harley-Cat
Summary: Kind of fluffy Joker/Harley. A general look on the romantic side of their relationship. Reviews greatly appreciated.


The sinister clown stood on the roof, watching the tiny specks of cars and human beings bustle about in a hurried manner across the streets of Gotham.

Why were they always in such a rush? He never could understand people, and their strange attitudes of _busy, busy, busy!_ They lived in their ordinary little lives and sometimes (if he hadn't gotten hold of them) died ordinary deaths. He felt blessed that he was not one of them. To be sane was _insane._

And then there was the Batman. Ole Batsy was perfect. Batsy was flawless; the perfect partner in this duet of blood and chaos. Batsy was principled, faultless in his inability to be tainted. The clown, if he had really felt like it now, would have sang the caped freak's praises right here on the rooftop.

But, Joker knew that he wouldn't. Batman was elsewhere right now, probably training that bird-brat or something. He didn't really mind that of course; he enjoyed the thrill of knowing that wherever the Bat might be, he, Joker, was not too far from his nightmares.

In the distance, smoke spewed out from the power plant, fogging the sky in clouds of murky, filthy gray. To any other man passing through, Gotham would look like a just another boring city. But Joker knew, Gotham wasn't just some ordinary little city…it was a circus of endless insane possibilities, a Nirvana where the mad bayed at the faceless moon, a wonderland where he, the puppeteer pulled all the strings.

Squinting as the sun leaked out of the haze for a fraction of a second, Joker began to dig around in his pockets for something amusing. With luck, he pulled out a large sparkler that he had been saving for quite some time. Chuckling as he lit it, he tossed it over the side of the building and watched as the bright flashes fell down…down…down. Maybe it would hit someone in the head and give them a jolly old scare. It didn't of course, but Joker thought that it had been a funny thought.

"Puddin'?"

Harley's voice had squeaked out to him from behind, bringing him back from his lone musings. Her head was cocked, the bells on her tassels jingling from the movement. They had made love about two hours ago, moving together on the creaky clown bed they sometimes shared. He had been rough with her but she had enjoyed it, smiling adoringly at him the whole time. Their bodies had danced together, grinding in and out of each other in a violent, but enjoyable ballet. And when it was over, they lay together, her arms around his bony waist, drowsing lazily in the rumpled field of sheets and pillows.

Now, padding towards him, Harley's expression was strangely calm, glad to see that her man was in a pleasant mood. Joker regarded her with amusement: her greasepaint was smeared from the movement, her collar was rumpled and uneven, her mascara was running slightly. And yet through it all, she still managed to make him smile.

He opened his arms out to her. "C'mere, kiddo."

Squealing, she charged at him in a mad dash and for a split second, he was worried that she would end up pushing them both off the roof. Leaning forward, Harley kissed his cheek, his neck, his shirt-covered chest, babbling on about how he was the most perfect being in existence, and how much she loved him.

To her, he was the only thing in her life that really mattered. Her love for him was pure and infinite. When she was hungry, she fed on his very presence and when she was thirsty, she eagerly swallowed his insanity. In her eyes he was beautiful and could do no wrong. When he got mad and had to punish her, she welcomed the pain with open arms, glad to see that he cared enough to make her see the error of her ways. He was her lover, guardian, teacher, father, and dearest friend. He was her very existence.

Joker smirked down at his little creation and patted her head, grabbing onto one of her tassels and twirling it playfully. She amused him. She was so bent, so utterly demented for him that he couldn't help but like her a little. In a way, she was his favorite toy, never ceasing to amaze him with her constant devotion to him and her funny little quirks. Like a yo-yo on a string, he bobbed her up and down, sometimes catching her in midair, sometimes letting her drop down onto the ground. Although he could not imagine anyone as great as he, in her own weird way, Harley was his equal.

For a while they stood there, surveying their wild and lunatic-ridden kingdom. Tilting their heads, they listened to the far-away roars of police sirens in the city. Where there were police, there would be Batman, and where there was Batman, there would be excitement.

Grinning, the king-clown turned his head to face his queen. "Whattya say, slugger? Wanna go see if ole Batty-man can take a couple of laughs?"

She beamed at him in hopeless endearment, "Anything ya say, Mistah J."

Leaving the building and with people pointing at them and screaming and running in all directions, the clowns trotted down the street, arms linked.

A new day of laughter had begun.


End file.
